The Foul Stench of Money

By MARGARET CARLSON

"I have violated no rule and certainly violated no commonly accepted ethical standard," said Speaker of the House Jim Wright in defense of his shady book deal and questionable lobbying. Wright may well be correct in his assessment, which is precisely the problem on Capitol Hill. The stench of money hangs heavy over the place these days. Despite specific rules aimed at curbing financial abuses, any sharp-eyed Congressman knows how to get around them. Free vacations and meals, overstuffed campaign chests and large fees for giving speeches or sometimes for just showing up at an event are routine. Kinsley's Law, named for New Republic Editor Michael Kinsley, says the scandal in Washington is not what's illegal, it's what's legal.

The observation attributed to Winston Churchill about the second oldest profession is increasingly true of too many Congressmen: we have established what they are; now we are just haggling over price. The jumping-off point is $1,000, the maximum an influence peddler can give to any one candidate. But that is barely enough to be put on hold by a congressional aide. Says a weary lobbyist: "Imagine a maitre d' at a pretentious restaurant who thinks you stiffed him with a $20 bill. That's how a Congressman treats a lobbyist who can't do better than the legal limit."

Consider Texas Democrat Lloyd Bentsen, who on taking over the Senate Finance Committee in 1987 formed a breakfast club with a suggested membership price of $10,000. When his hometown newspapers carried stories about the scheme, Bentsen dropped the idea. A similar group at an identical price, formed by Democrat Robert Byrd after he became Senate majority leader in 1987, continues to thrive.

In the House, Democratic Whip Tony Coelho used a 112-ft. yacht and Learjet belonging to Vernon Savings & Loan to entertain contributors and fly to fund- raising parties. Federal thrift regulators last year charged the Texas bank's officers with looting it; two have pleaded guilty to criminal charges in the case. Last year Coelho lobbied for a $5 billion bill to bail out the industry. Coelho has admitted he was wrong to use the yacht and jet; he and the Democrats' campaign committee paid Vernon $48,450 for their use.

Ostensibly, legislators take money from lobbyists to help with their campaigns. Yet most House incumbents are re-elected easily; many run unopposed. Unlike the bride who returns wedding gifts when the marriage is called off, members of Congress keep what they are given, even when there is no real race. Upon retirement, a member elected before 1980 can keep this pot of money for his personal use -- a kind of IRA with no strings attached. So far, New York Democrat Stephen Solarz has piled up more than $800,000, as has Illinois Democrat Dan Rostenkowski; New Jersey Republican Matthew Rinaldo has $600,000. A law passed in 1979 allows members elected after that date to return unused campaign money to a charity, the member's political party or contributors.

Honorariums -- fees paid for speeches and other appearances -- are often little more than cash for the pleasure of a powerful Congressman's company. The all-expenses-paid invitations are so enticing that a lawmaker will sometimes make the trip accompanied by his family. If he has already exceeded the annual limit on outside income (about $35,000 for a Senator, $26,000 for a Congressman), he donates the speaking fee to charity. Rostenkowski, chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, will go almost anywhere golf is played. He gave 51 speeches last year; along the way he played in three celebrity golf tournaments, including the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. For leading two discussions on "handling stress," Speaker Wright was a guest at California's La Costa Hotel & Spa last August.

Particularly questionable was a $2,000 payment on April 1, 1987, by the Oshkosh Truck Corp. to each of six House Armed Services Committee members just for coming to breakfast. A few hours later, an Armed Services subcommittee passed a measure to force the Army to buy 500 more Oshkosh trucks than it needs. Coincidence, says Oshkosh.

Most politicians claim not to be influenced by money or favors, professing to follow the dictum of California Assembly Speaker Jess Unruh: "If you can't drink their booze, eat their food, ((have)) their women and vote against them in the morning, you don't belong in this place."

Even when the public does find a direct link between a contribution and a Congressman's vote, throwing the bum out is not as easy as it used to be. Incumbents with huge campaign chests scare off all but the most fearless challengers. Add to money the other advantages of incumbency -- free broadcast studios, newsletters that are printed and mailed to constituents at the taxpayers' expense, a staff that helps hundreds of local voters get Social Security checks -- and it is no wonder that only 50 of the 435 House races are being genuinely contested this year.

A bill to limit campaign financing was filibustered to death by Republicans last February. Efforts to curb honorariums have failed because lawmakers complain they cannot get by on $89,500 a year, a lament that understandably falls on deaf ears beyond the Beltway, where the median family income is $29,460.

Congressmen often mutter that the best way to remove the temptation to make money on the side is to raise their salaries. Perhaps, but their pay has been raised in the past with no noticeable improvement in ethics. Serving in Congress is a choice freely made, an honor partly its own reward. What has not been tried is sound rules with stiff penalties, but that is because Congress sets its own standards.

With reporting by Hays Gorey/Washington